A Different Kind of Magic
by TheRedPoet
Summary: Dresden finds him dragged along for a night of Magic he is both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with. Well, at least the company's good. Oh wait...


Sequel to Guilty Pleasures. Some suspension of disbelief might be required.

* * *

"I can't believe you dragged me into this," I muttered, making a face as I followed followed Billy towards the game-shop a few blocks away from the University of Chicago, twelve bucks and immeasureable amounts of wizardly dignity poorer.

I held out the three packets of playing cards I'd gotten in return to Billy as we waited for the red lights.

Billy Borden, leader of the Alphas, the werewolves of Chicago University's campus, my friend of many years and several tough scrapes, and fellow fan of many things labeled nerdy by the unenlightened came up to my side.

"It's not that bad," Billy said.

"This is magic blacker than even I feel comfortable with," I told the considerably shorter, considerably broader man.

His bicep stood out against his skin when he leaned against the pole holding up the traffic lights and I got lost in thought for a moment, considering where I'd stowed the weights Thomas had gotten me the previous Christmas. Another of my brother's oh-so subtle hints. I really should get them out and start using them, though.

Billy scoffed.

"Just give it a shot," he reasoned. "It's fun and the guy running it seemed like a good guy. He said the group's great."

I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah... Just give it a go. What harm could it do trying it just once? You know, the TV specials back in the day told me to 'just say no.'"

He laughed as the lights turned green and we began to cross the street.

"You owe me. I vouched for you after that first time and you had to go and do it again."

Of course he had to bring that up.

"I am not a killer DM," I said. "It's not my fault you guys split up the party and went wandering."

Billy held up both hands, palms up, dodging a guy zipping by on a bike as he did.

"Whatever you say, Harry. Those two party wipes had nothing to do with the campaign you wrote or the killer baboon you threw at us."

"I am not a killer DM, damn it!" I insisted.

The leader of the Alphas chuckled and his voice dripped with sincerity for his next words.

"I believe you but you still promised."

"You suck," I grumbled, knocking on the window of the shop. It was well past business hours, but the lights were still on inside.

Billy grinned and thumped me on the back.

"At least with this game you'll be within your element."

"Yeah. You're a real humanitarian, Billy. I don't know what I've done to deserve this kindness."

The door opened and a tall, slightly overweight guy with a patchy attempt at a beard and a wide smile poked his head out.

"Hey there, dudes. You're Billy, yeah?" He opened the door wider and stepped aside with an actual bow. "Come on in."

He'd already turned away from us when he seemed to remember something, stopping in his tracks and turning back to us again, reaching out a hand.

"Sorry. I'm Roger."

We shook, did the introduction thing, and went on in.

The inside of the shop held the things such places usually did. Computer games in one corner, sectioned into new and second-hand. Comics had their own dedicated corner and at the far end, they had DnD stuff. Books, dice, figurines and anything else one might need.

We walked past all of that, through a corridor with a bathroom to one side and into another room at the back. It was larger than I had expected, probably a lunchroom, and had half a dozen tables, most of which were already featuring people doing - uh- battle with their Magic cards.

Roger settled at one of the tables, picked up a bunch of cards that had lain face-down on the table. He perused his options for a moment, picked one, then slammed it down on the table with the smug smile of a poker playing throwing down a straight flush.

His opponent, a kid in his late teens, who wore a tank-top to better show off his tattoo-covered biceps, grimaced, gave his own cards a furtive glance and then dropped them back onto the table.

Maybe I'd left the stupid weights somewhere in the lab. Damn it.

A girl sat by his side, checking her phone. Her expression very clearly stating that she did not want to be here, though she had her own deck of cards in front of her.

While Roger and his opponent shook hands I looked over the rest of the group. A young man with dusky skin sat eating something that could only barely be called pizza. Beside him, another two people sat playing.

The man was probably in his early forties and looked like he'd only just come from the office, wearing a suit and tie, though the latter was mostly undone. His dark hair was greying and thinning, leaving a patch of his dark skin visible at the top of his head.

Opposite him, another girl sat. She was tall-ish. 5'7, maybe? Her bad posture made her look shorter. She wore a pair of loose jeans, a jumper made for someone 50 pounds heavier than her, and long enough that she'd had to fold the arms up several times.

Her hair had been pulled up into a tail. She had no make-up on, no lipstick, no nail polish. Even in that outfit, there was no way she could hide how beautiful she truly was and holy shit. Holy fucking shit, I recognized her.

She looked up from her cards. Her grey eyes, almost but not quite hidden behind thick glasses, caught mine and widened. Her already pale skin turned sheet white.

Of all the things I had expected walking in her - and I had enough prejudice about players of this particular game to expect a lot - it had not been to see Lara Raith sitting surrounded by this crowd of uh- particularly enlightened people - playing Magic: The Gathering.

Hell's - Fucking - Bells.

There was a frozen moment of shock where we just stared at each other and I thought that maybe - just maybe - that the universe might be crumbling under the weight of the weirdness of this situation... And then it got worse.

Roger came around, beaming. He walked by me on his way towards the coffee machine at the end of the room and - I swear to God- gave Lara's hair a fond ruffling as he went by. I sat down. I had to. Things were reaching Lovecraftian levels of insanity and it was just too much.

The only chair available in the vicinity was on the other side of Lara's table and I flopped down into it, staring. The only consolation was that I'm pretty sure she was just as lost as I was.

The guy she was playing with put his cards down and reached his hand out, smiling warmly. I dazedly shook it.

"I'm Tom," he said, then hooked a thumb towards Lara. "The little lady kicking my ass is Abigail."

I tilted my head a little as Lara raised her hand an inch or two off the table in a little wave, her smile shy and completely adorable.

"Hi," she said.

When Thomas had created his flaming gay French hairstylist persona he'd gone all the way with it, changing everything from the way he walked to his voice and his accent. It wasn't difficult to guess who might have taught him.

More so than anything, the voice was what really sold the disguise. It was soft, tentative, almost apologetic and I have no idea how she managed to blush at command, but she did.

I frowned. It wasn't in the style of the White Court to slug things out. Their methods tended to rely on subtlety and manipulations. That didn't mean that they couldn't or wouldn't fight if their backs were to the wall, though just that they usually went for other options first.

So either Lara was planning on making her move... Or she wasn't going to make one at all unless she was forced. She knew I wasn't about to start a fight, especially not here. I relaxed marginally.

Roger, having fetched his cup of coffee, cleared his throat and raised his arms. Either for silence or in an attempt to embrace the whole room and everyone in it. It was a toss-up. The chatter didn't exactly die down, but people kept their voices down.

"I think this is as many as we're going to get tonight," he said. "Tim is hungover, apparently, and Joe's still out of town. We've got Billy and Harry here instead, though."

He pointed us out in turn.

"I expect all of you to be nice to them. Let's get cracking."

We spread out around two tables pushed together lengthwise, ten of us all in all, and began the process apparently refered to as drafting. I won't go into detail because, honestly, I didn't really have any idea what was going on. A confusing hour later, we were supposed to get started and because fate hates me, I'll give you exactly one guess who I ended up playing.

"Abigail" and I settled in the corner by the coffee machine, from which I liberate a cup for myself.

To say that it combines chess and texas hold-em poker isn't really accurate, but it's as close as I can get. If that doesn't make any sense to you, then we're in the same boat. Welcome, have a seat.

Lara didn't look at me, busy as she was shuffling her cards with skill worthy of a magician. I watched closely, both because it was impressive as hell and because I was trying to see if she was cheating.

"So..." I drawled, eyeing her over my hand of cards. "Do you come here often?"

She cast me a shy glance and bobbed her head in a quick nod, eyes darting towards the other players, who were settling into their own games, chatting as they did.

Even knowing what she really was, I still had this instinctive urge to protect her the way that had gotten me into trouble with many far less obvious and literal fem fetales. If she wanted, she could turn every single person in this room against me, with the exception of Will. It was why I'd always thought that the White Court was, by far, the most dangerous.

I lowered my voice enough that only she'd be able to hear.

"Seriously. What are you doing here? Is this where you hunt for virgins to corrupt?"

She pretended to consider me, but I saw her look at the others to make sure they weren't watching or listening.

"I'd tell you it was none of your business, but I suppose you'd make it your business either way..."

That just about summed up our relationship. I grinned at her mostly because I felt sure it would annoy her and sent my one soldier card in to attack her. She subsequently burned him to cinders with a spell card of her own.

While I waited for her to play her turn I looked around the room, focusing on the people present. If they were enthralled by her, it would've been at least a little bit obvious. I'd seen the way Justine acted around Thomas, after all, and there was nothing even close to that going on here, meaning...

"They're you're friends, aren't they?" I asked. "Hell's bells, these people are your actual friends."

Her mask cracked for just a moment and she dropped a card onto the table. I was willing to bet that I could've walked into her and just about anyone in the midst of any depraved carnal activity and she would've been able to turn the situation to her own advantage somehow without so much as a blush.

She was a very shrewd woman - who I sometimes even grudgingly admired - but this. This was something she'd apparently never been prepared to deal with and she was not handling it well, which was both hilarious and truly terrifying.

"Christ..." I shook my head ruefully and went on the offensive again, only for Lara's little elf-card to grow into a monstrosity that bashed another of my noble warriors to death.

A certain smugness seemed to re-assert itself and I decided I was feeling petty enough to apply some pressure.

"Does Thomas know about this little hobby, Lara?"

She stiffened. Nope. He didn't and she really didn't want him to. I didn't blame her. He'd never let her live it down. She'd have centuries of mocking to endure. Another card hit the table, with a bit more force than was necessary.

"You will be silent about anything you might learn here tonight," she said. Her voice was a great deal calmer than before but she wasn't fooling me.

"Or you'll do what exactly?"

She sent her little army in for the kill and there wasn't anything to do but to concede game one.

It was a best out of three. Time to get the comeback started.

"We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man," Lara said coldly.

That chilled me for a second. Then I frowned as I rembered having heard word those exact words elsewhere.

"Did you just quote Dumbledore?"

Her eyes widened, as though she hadn't realized it herself until that moment.

"Hell's bells, you just quoted Dumbledore to Voldemort."

Lara's eyes darted to the door and for a moment, she considered running for the hills. I took that moment to lay down a rebuke to a threat I was entirely certain she wasn't exaggerating.

"I'm sure you could mess my life up in all sorts of ways, but you also know I could do the same to you... And you've got much farther to fall."

She was either really focused on the game, in which she was kicking my ass yet again, or she was pondering what I'd said. Watching her gave me some time to think, too. Her play style was to wait for me to act, then to counter. She'd establish a grip of the game early and force me to catch up and when I attempted to do that, she'd exploit the expose weakness to strike.

If I didn't act, all she had to do was wait until she won, since she in firm control of the game. It gave me an idea. In the non-game fight, I was in the driver's seat and she the one was trying to claw her way back. All I had to do was to sit comfortably and bat her off if she tried. As long as she wasn't, I could simply proceed as planned.

So I waited and lost the second game, too.

"Another?" Lara asked in her Abigail-voice.

I shrugged and looked around. None of the others were finished.

"Might as well."

The fact that I'd caught on to the way she played didn't do diddly-squat of a difference and Lara set out to beat me for the third time. As the end was drawing nigh and my glorious last stand was upon me, Roger siddled up to us.

"Everybody loses to Abby the first time," he confided in me, giving Lara another fond smile, much the way a brother might to a younger sister.

"Took me more than a year before I won and to this day, I'm pretty sure she was just being nice to me."

Lara wouldn't look at me and her cheeks coloured again at the praise. Being nice, huh? We'd see about that.

The evening continued the way it had begun with humiliating defeats until I finally got to the third game against Billy, who'd suffered similar luck as I. I made sure we took the table as far away "Abigail" as possible.

"Figured you'd be sulkier about losing," Billy remarked as he sat down with his back to the rest of the room, a wry grin on his face.

"Wizards don't sulk," I informed him, eyeing my cards to figure out the best way to approach the upcoming battle. "We sometimes brood, but even when we do, it's very manly."

"I'm sure it works miracles with the ladies, too," Billy said, nodding seriously. "Like that psychology major Georgia tried to set you up with."

His voice tapered off at the end, making the statement more of a question. I scowled.

"First of all, she wasn't my type. Secondly, I never asked Georgia to set me up with anyone. I thought we were going to hang out and have a cup of coffee. Third. She really needs to learn what the word confidentiality means if we're going to be a psychologist.

His rolled his eyes at me and returned his focus to the game at hand. It was a close, vicious and glorious battle that my forces manage to emerge victorious from.

"Hah!" I said. "Who's sulking now?"

"You, after this round," Billy groused, beginning to shuffle his cards. "Do you want me to drive you home after we're done?"

Much like the phoenix I was playing in my deck, The Beetle was dead, but its rise was almost an inevitability thanks to the talents of Mike, my mechanic. It was just going to take a while longer.

"Thanks, but I'm going to have to stretch my legs."

He knew better to argue when I was Wizardin'. Especially since I'd brought him into the fold after the mess with Morgan and Shagnasty the Skinwalker a few months back.

We played the last game and I emerged victorious. I was a gracious victor. Billy might not have agreed on that, but he's dead wrong about some stuff and that's just the way it is.

The evening was concluded by the winners collecting the prize cards that we'd all put into a kind of pot. Billy and I got the ones nobody wanted because we'd ended up last. Goodbyes were said. Some people stuck around longer than others. I waited patiently while Lara mumbled something to Roger.

He nodded and Lara came up to me. She looked up at me and then then set off towards the door. I followed and waited for her to play her last desperate card. It took her a while. We'd walked two blocks and into a parking house. It wasn't in a bad part of town by any means, but it was almost midnight and it was deserted.

Perfect for what I had in mind.

Lara stopped at a white volvo. A reliable car that lacked even the pretense of sexiness. It so wasn't her... Or, was that perhaps exactly what it was? There was a fair amount of clutter in the backseat. A bag of take-out food. A field hockey stick. Several books.

Enough things that I had to wonder which was the cover, Lara Raith or Abigail. There was a moment of tense silence where we stood under the flourescent lights overhead. Lara stood with her hip leaned against the car, waiting. I didn't help her out and eventually she caved.

"What do you want?" Her voice carried equal parts annoyance and resignation.

I eyed her for a while longer, just to be obnoxious, and then named the price for my silence, my voice firm and uncompromising.

"Get down on your knees."

That took her by surprise, as much as anything that night had, but it didn't take long for her gorgeous lips to turn up into a smirk.

"Why Dresden," she murmured, her voice going low and smoky. "I never thought you had it in you."

I didn't say anything. I just stepped closer. Lara sank to her knees and managed to make it graceful, clearly feeling she was about to get some control of the situation back. She thought I was out of tricks, or rather, that I'd misplayed my holecard. For the first time in the evening, she was mistaken.

She put a hand on my hip and licked her lips as she looked up at me with what I could only describe as anticipation in her chrome-colored eyes. My heart pounded rapidly in my chest and I could feel myself respond to her touch and the silky texture of her glossy raven-black locks underneath my fingers.

I swallowed thickly and then I pointed ruffled up her hair, took a step back, and began to walk away. I could hear her sputtering something behind me and turned to look over my shoulder, both to make sure she wasn't about to come kill me and to call:

"Oh, and I want a re-match next week."


End file.
